The Stoneybrook Six
by WriterGirl719
Summary: Ten years ago, six members of the Baby-Sitters Club left Stoneybrook, Connecticut after a bombing in the small town. In modern-day Austin, Texas, a young reporter makes a shocking discovery after his girlfriend walks out on him. Now the truth will come out.
1. One-Way Ticket

**Author's Note:** Hey! Thanks for deciding to read my weird story. I hope you enjoy it!

**Disclaimer:** The Baby-Sitters Club and its characters were created by Ann M. Martin. I own none of it.

* * *

_September 19th, 2015  
Austin, Texas_

Maureen Edwards stepped out of the small apartment's only bathroom and into the bedroom, her wet blonde hair falling over her shoulders and down her back. The morning sun was making its way inside through the blinds that hung on the room's one small window, and the streams of light had almost made their way to the bed, where the covers hid the sleeping figure of her boyfriend, Devin Harlow.

It seemed like such a juvenile word, "boyfriend". She'd had boyfriends when she was thirteen, and those relationships (if you wanted to call them that) were nothing like what she had with Devin. It was true that on certain days she wasn't entirely sure what that was, but it wasn't a teenage romance.

She watched him stretch, arching his back and opening his arms wide, before he fell back against his pillow, his eyes still closed. She gave a sigh, then walked to the side of the bed and gently shook his shoulder.

"It's time to get up, lazybones," she said in a mellow, almost singsong voice.

He turned as if to look over his shoulder, but instead he grabbed onto her. With one hand on her arm and the other wrapped around her waist, he brought her down onto the bed, bringing a squeal out of her as she landed next to him. His eyes opened to meet hers, and he smiled. It was the same boyish, dimpled grin that had made her weak in the knees when they first met.

"That's not fair," she said.

"All's fair in love and sleep," he said.

"That's not how that phrase goes."

"Excuse me. Who is the writer here? I think I know my phrases."

"And who is the one who actually gets up when her alarm goes off, and then has to listen to yours go off three different times?"

He pretended to think about it for a brief moment. "Would that be you?"

"That would be me," she said with a smile.

"Sorry about that," he said. "I'm awake now."

"Good." She gave him a peck on the lips before she slipped out of his hold and off of the bed.

He watched her as she returned to the bathroom, pulling the door halfway closed behind her. As soon as she was out of his sight, his phone's alarm sounded again, chiming and vibrating on the bedside table. He picked it up and quickly turned it off, sending the phone to its lock screen, which showed a familiar picture of him and the blonde-haired beauty that had just been next to him. It had been there since he'd taken it on her birthday in April, her 27th. There had been no party, just a dinner for two at a tiny nearby restaurant and a late movie. It hardly felt like an occasion at all, but he had a feeling that's what she wanted. Maureen was one of the most effortlessly social people that he'd ever met, until it was her turn to be the center of attention.

When she returned a few minutes later, she found him out of bed and beginning to get dressed.

"What are you doing today?" he asked.

She paused as she watched herself in the mirror, brushing out her hair. It wasn't a question that required much thought, if any, but Maureen often took a pause before answering even the simplest questions, as if she needed to be cautious with every answer.

"Working," she said. "I'm going to Chessie's, and then to the magazine after lunch."

"So you're free for lunch?" he asked.

That question didn't require a pause. She turned to give him a smile. "Sure. That sounds nice."

/

He walked into the offices of the _Austin Statesman_ with the same buoyant stride that he always had, and which his co-workers always found annoying. He smiled at all of the familiar faces that he passed on the way in, and the few that usually smiled back did. When he reached his small cubicle, he pulled the strap of his large messenger bag over his head and dropped it on the desk next to his computer.

"Harlow!"

He turned to look at the head of the room, where the door to a small office stood open and Abigail Gilmore sat behind her desk. She waved him forward.

"Morning, boss," he said as he walked into the office.

"Sit down," she said, her voice as brisk and no-nonsense as it always was. "And stop smiling."

He followed both commands. "Am I in trouble?"

"No," she said. "I'm just tired of that stupid never-ending grin. It's really annoying." She leaned forward on the desk, which hid her five-month baby bump from view. She wore her usual simple black and white suit, with her blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail. "What do you know about Stoneybrook, Connecticut?"

The name was somewhat familiar, but he had to search his memory for a moment before he could give an answer.

"That's the town that had that school bombing about, what, ten years ago?" he asked.

"Almost exactly," she said. "The anniversary is coming up in a few days. I want you to go up and cover it."

"Up to Connecticut?"

"That's what I just said, yes. Talk to anybody willing to talk, and see what you can find out about the victims, the suspects, the town. Everything."

"I haven't quite finished up that profile on the new comptroller," he said. "There are a few kinks to work out, but it should be done by the end of the day."

"Well, finish that, and then get on this."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." He waited until his back was to her and he was heading out the door before he smiled again.

/

He walked into the tiny Carolina Cafe at half past one and saw her sitting at a table in the back of the room, her back to the wall and her eyes watching the door. When she saw him, they exchanged a smile and he hurried towards her.

"Hi," she said cheerfully.

"Hey," he said. He leaned down to give her a quick kiss, and then took his seat across from her. "I'm sorry I'm late. We had an emergency meeting."

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," he said. "I'm not the one in trouble."

"There's that empathy that you're so famous for," she said with a teasing smile.

"Well, my empathy and I have a new assignment, and we're going to have to go out of town for a few days."

"Really?" she asked, reaching for the small mug that held her tea. "Where are you two off to?"

"Connecticut," he said. "Have you ever heard of a town called Stoneybrook?"

Maureen went still, the cup at her lips and her tea sitting in her mouth, burning her tongue. She swallowed quickly, and broke out coughing.

"Are you okay?" Devin asked.

She nodded and, once it had passed, said, "It just went down the wrong way." She cleared her throat and leaned back in her chair. She gave herself a brief pause before answering: "I've heard of it. That's where the school was bombed ten years ago."

"That's right," he said. "I think I was finishing up college about then."

"I was seventeen," she said, softly, wistfully, looking blankly at the empty seat next to him. "A senior."

He reached out and gently put his hand on top of hers. The action snapped her out of her reverie and she turned her gaze down to them.

"Are you okay?" he asked gently.

"I think there's something wrong with my tea," she said. "I feel nauseous. Excuse me." Before she even finished speaking, she was out of her chair and hurrying away.

/

She leaned over the sink in the empty ladies room and drank the water from her cupped hand to wash out the taste of vomit. A bit of it splashed on her cheek, pressing her hair to her skin. She pulled the wet strands loose as she turned the water off and stood up straight to look into the mirror.

Maureen Edwards looked in, and Stacey McGill looked back at her.

Did she really look so similar to her 17-year-old self, or was it her mind playing tricks on her? It was hard to tell. Her hair was still blonde, her eyes still blue, but as much as she wished for it, she wasn't 17 anymore. That wouldn't stop Devin from being able to recognize her from even a decade-old picture.

How could she keep that from happening? She simplest way was to convince him not to take the assignment, but that was easier said than done. This was a great opportunity, so different than any other assignment he'd had. Getting him to give it up would take a hell of a story from her, something that would convince him that she absolutely needed him to stay. What would be big enough to convince him that was small enough to fake?

And what was she going to do when one of his coworkers came back with her pictures from the Stoneybrook High yearbook and the FBI wanted poster?

She sighed softly. She knew what the answer was. She knew that she really only had one option.

She'd always known that this day would come, just as it had come in Albany. This was different, though. This time she had more baggage than she could take with her.

Devin watched her carefully when she returned to the table and took her seat, his face showing all the kindness and concern that came so naturally to him. "Are you okay?"

She gave a nod. "I'm fine. Sorry about that."

He motioned to the full cup of tea that was sitting in front of her place. "I asked the waitress for a fresh cup," he said. "Earl Grey, right?"

Stacey smiled, hoping that none of her sadness showed through. "You know me too well."

/

"Maureen? Are you there?" The voice on the phone brought Stacey out of her thoughts. How long had she been standing by the bed, looking at her almost-full suitcase, while Jackson tried to get her attention?

"I'm here," she said. "Sorry. I need to cancel today. I...I think I ate something bad. I've been feeling terrible. I'll be there tomorrow. Will that work?"

"Yeah, of course," he said. "I'm sorry to hear that. I hope you feel better."

"Thanks."

After hanging up, she threw her phone onto the bed. She wouldn't be using it again. She would take it with her and find somewhere to leave it so it couldn't be used to trace her. She had another phone that she would start using, a 10-year-old prepaid that lived in the back of the closet and hadn't gotten a call in five years. Yet she still checked it every Saturday to make sure, and hoped that she wasn't the only one.

When she was satisfied that she had all of her clothes and necessities, she went back to the closet. She felt a pang of guilt as she moved the small panel of wood she'd cut out to give herself access into the back wall. Her little hiding place was probably going to cost Devin part of his security deposit, but it revealed exactly what she needed: a small, blue box with the words "Kid Kit" on the lid. It was no bigger than a cigar box, and time had worn its edges and its color, but she looked at it as if it was a beautiful antique.

It was stupid to have such an obvious keepsake from her past. If found by the wrong people, it would go straight from "keepsake" to "evidence". She knew that, but she couldn't help it. Just looking at the intricate artwork that covered it took her back to the afternoon in Claudia's room where Stacey had seen her working on it. It was a piece of home that she couldn't bear to part with.

And, on a more practical level, it was a good place to keep her ten thousand dollars in emergency cash and her prepaid phone.

She pulled a pair of hundred-dollar bills out of the stack and put them into her back pocket, then slid the phone into her jacket pocket. She stuffed the box, with the rest of the money inside it, between the folded clothes in her suitcase. Satisfied that everything was in place, she zipped up the bag, then put her jacket on and swung her purse onto her shoulder. She pulled her suitcase behind her as she went through the living room and kitchen to the front door.

She opened the door, and then stood still in the doorway.

She had played this moment in her mind many times before, her exit from the life of Maureen Edwards. Now that it was time, she hesitated. She looked over her shoulder and found herself facing an empty apartment full of memories. She had only lived there for five months, but in that time, it had gone from being Devin's place to being theirs. She couldn't just walk away from it, or from him.

_Yes you can,_ she told herself. _You knew the moment that you met him that you would have to._

She walked out and forced herself not to look back.

/

Maureen's phone was left on the backseat of a Capital Metro bus when Stacey got off at the downtown Hilton. The lobby was almost completely empty, letting her footsteps echo loudly as she walked in and went to the hallway next to the elevators. There, as she'd hoped, she found the restrooms, and three pay phones hanging on the wall. She stood on the far side of the phones' wooden rack and let it hide her from view.

She pulled the old phone from her pocket and turned it on. No messages since she'd last checked it. She selected the number that was simply labeled _C_ and hit the green button. It went straight to voicemail. _Great,_ she thought._ Knowing Claudia, she might get back to me in time for the twentieth anniversary._

It seemed that Claudia wasn't quite prepared to take that risk, however, judging by her outgoing message: "If I'm not here- which I'm obviously not if you're listening to my voicemail- then try me at 347-555-6446. Or take your chances and just leave a message after the beep."

347\. She was in New York.

Stacey hung up as the beep sounded, then dialed the number she'd just been given. It rang several times before going to voicemail, and she once again heard Claudia's voice: "Hi, this is Mimi." (Stacey smiled at the familiar name that her friend had chosen for herself.) "I can't answer right now, so leave me a message."

_Beep_.

"It's Stacey," she said firmly. "I need you to call me. We have a problem."

There was so much more to say, so much that she wanted to tell her, but nothing that could be shared on an unsecure line. So she hung up.

She looked over the top of the wooden dividers at the three pay phones, and then started digging in her purse for her coin pouch. She took a minute to scrounge up six quarters, then quickly dropped them into the slot. Her finger hovered over the buttons as her mind worked to remember a number that she hadn't dialed in a decade. Even as she heard the ringing, she wasn't sure that it was right, until she heard her mother answer.

"Hello," Maureen Spencer said. Her voice was light and casual. To her mind, it was just another phone call.

Stacey was silent for a moment, taking in the sound of her mother's voice.

"Hello?" Maureen repeated, now confused and curious.

Stacey was frozen, with tears gathering in her eyes. Ten years, almost exactly, since she'd heard her mother's voice, and she could say nothing in return.

"Stacey?"

She hung up.

/

An hour later, she was at the train station. Standing in line at the ticket counter, she took her phone out of her pocket for the 15th time. Still no call from Claudia. She checked the ringer for the 12th time. It was turned all the way up. There was no reason to keep checking it, and yet she couldn't help it.

She put the phone away and crossed her arms tightly across her chest. _Relax,_ she told herself._ If you keep acting so fidgety, they'll think you really are a terrorist_.

The ticket agent beckoned her forward with a smile. "Can I help you?"

Stacey put on a smile of her own as she stepped forward. "I need a ticket on the next train heading north. One-way."

/

Devin pulled his keys out of the doorknob as he stepped into the apartment. It was odd for the door to be locked when he arrived home, since Maureen usually got there first, but he could immediately tell that the place was empty. He closed the door behind him and went to the refrigerator, where a note was pinned with a magnet:

_Had to go out. Friend had an emergency. Will explain when I get back.  
M_

Devin dropped his bag on the table and took out his phone. He'd tried to call her on his way home, and it had gone straight to her voicemail. This attempt was no different. He waited through the system's default message to get to the beep.

"Hey, babe," he said. "I'm, uh, a little concerned, honestly. Can you call me when you get this and let me know what's going on? And please record a message already. That robot lady's voice freaks me out. Okay. I love you."

He hung up and stared at the phone for a second before he set it on the table. This wasn't like her. Well, taking off at the drop of the hat to help a friend was like her. Maureen was very loyal. It was one of the things that he loved about her. She was also very reliable. He had always been able to reach her when he needed to, and in fact, she had gotten onto his back more than once about leaving his phone off.

Something was going on.

He checked his texts again, just to make sure that nothing had slipped in without him noticing. No such luck.

After a long minute of staring at the phone, he decided that there was nothing he could do until he heard back from her. He might as well get to work. He had to leave the next day, so he needed at least some background information tonight. He set his laptop up on the table, got a cold bottle of water out of the fridge, and took a seat. He started where anybody would- by googling Stoneybrook, Connecticut.

The first two results were from Wikipedia: the town's page and an article about the bombing itself. He clicked on the latter, and started skimming the text. It was basically what he'd expected. There were sections on background information and the aftermath, and then a heading that caught his attention: "The Stoneybrook Six".

He didn't read a word that was under the heading, because his eye was caught by the picture. It was a wanted poster from the FBI, with an array of six pictures, all teenage girls. The first one on the second row was of Maureen. Or, as the caption named her, Stacey McGill.

"Holy shit."

* * *

I hope you liked chapter one. Reviews and comments are always welcome!


	2. Satellite Calls

**Author's Note:** First of all, thank you so much for all of the kind reviews on chapter one! I was very nervous to start posting this story because it's such a weird idea for a BSC fic, of all things, but I'm so happy to see how interested so many of you are.

Secondly, I don't give music recommendations with my fics, but "Satellite Call" by Sara Bareilles has become the unofficial theme song of this chapter, if not the entire story, so maybe go give that a listen? It's not really necessary for anything, but it is an amazing song.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the BSC. Kristy is adamant that it is not for sale.

* * *

_September 20th_

Devin leaned forward in his seat and watched Abigail as she examined the two photographs that she held in front of her. In her left hand was a printout of the FBI wanted poster, and in her right a picture of Devin and "Maureen". Her mind had recognized and accepted the facts almost immediately, yet she couldn't help but stare.

Finally she dropped the pictures onto the desk. "Well, that's interesting."

"That's one word for it," Devin said.

"What would you call it?"

He leaned back in his chair and cycled through the words that his mind offered up: "Batshit. Nightmarish. Unbelievable. I mean, what are the odds?"

"Apparently better than one would think."

He obviously wasn't amused, and yet he couldn't be too angry, either. In her position, that emotional detachment was not only a strength- it was how she'd gotten there in the first place.

"Well, it's a great angle," she said.

His expression of mild annoyance became one of confusion. "You think I should still do the piece?"

"Why not?"

"Don't you think that's a pretty big conflict of interest?"

"No," she said. "I think it's a competitive advantage. There are going to be dozens of outlets there covering the facts. We have something else to offer- you."

"Your compassion is overwhelming," he said. "It must be that maternal instinct kicking in."

She sighed. She may have been coldly practical sometimes, but she wasn't completely heartless, or completely unbiased. She liked Maureen, and clearly remembered the night that the young couple had met, at Abigail and Jackson's Christmas party. Maureen made quite the first impression by arguing with one of the _Statesman_ columnists about whether fashion magazines were sexist. Devin had been instantly and obviously smitten.

"If you don't want the assignment, that's fine," she said. "Nobody will blame you. But let me know now, because somebody is going to write the story."

"I know," he said quietly. The question was: what version of the story would it be? Would it just be the cold hard facts, with a few somewhat emotional witness interviews? Would it be the sensationalist angle, made as entertaining as possible? Or could it actually be human? Did he trust anybody to do it as much as he trusted himself?

"I'll do it." If he owed "Maureen" anything, it was to do his job and make sure to get the story right. And if he owed himself anything, it was to find out the truth.

Abigail nodded, unsurprised. "Good," she said. "What have you found out so far?"

Devin sighed and leaned forward again before launching into the basic details of what he'd learned the night before: "The six girls were a tight-knit group. They were all members of a local baby-sitting club. But there were two members of the club that weren't in town at the time of the bombing. Dawn Schafer was living with her father in California, and Mallory Pike was attending boarding school in Massachusetts. They were both interviewed by the FBI, and cleared of any involvement."

"Well, that sounds like a good place to start. Do you know where they are now?"

"Mallory is in New York," he said. "She works for Newsweek. So far, I've only been able to track Dawn to California."

Abigail leaned back in her seat with a smile. "Safe travels."

Devin stood and picked up the two pictures before heading for the door.

"Devin."

He stopped in the doorway and turned back.

"I'm sorry," she said gently. "I liked Maureen."

"Me, too."

/

Stacey was woken up suddenly and painfully, when a jerk of the train sent her head slamming into the window. "Shit!"

When the throbbing subsided enough, she saw the woman in front of her turned her way and glaring. Stacey was about to become defensive until she noticed the young girl looking down from the top of the neighboring seat.

"Sorry," she said with a sheepish smile.

The woman turned away, but the girl kept staring. She was about eight years old, with brown hair and big brown eyes. It took Stacey a moment to realize why she seemed so familiar.

She grabbed her purse from the next seat and hurried to the bathroom.

With the door locked, she leaned into the small, scratched-up mirror hanging above the sink and took a close look at the spot beside her forehead that was radiating pain. Thankfully, as far as she could tell, the pain was the only real damage. Well, there was a good chance that she would have a bruise, but there was no blood and no sign of a concussion.

The only ringing she heard was from her phone.

She frantically dug around in her purse, following the sound all the way to the bottom until she found the phone. She pulled it out and barely paused to acknowledge the number before she answered.

"Hello?" she asked, her voice full of cautious hope.

There was a long silence, and Stacey was beginning to wonder if there had been a terrible mistake when finally, she heard her friend's voice again: "Stacey?"

Stacey smiled, and felt tears come to her eyes. How long had it been since she'd talked to her best friend? Almost a decade, and just the sound of Claudia's voice made her feel like a teenager again, like she was about to ask if she could come over to read Cosmo and watch movies.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," Claudia said, and they shared a laugh at how simple and insufficient a greeting it was. "What's going on?"

Stacey was silent for a moment, trying to pin down all the thoughts that were flying around in her mind. She didn't know where to start. She was completely out of practice when it came to telling the truth.

"Stacey? Are you okay?"

"No," she said, wiping away a tear. "I messed up, Claud."

/

_Brooklyn, New York_

Claudia threw her favorite pair of jeans on top the growing pile of clothes that spilled out of the top of her duffel bag. She pushed down on the pile, trying to make it fit, but it was obviously futile. She looked at the pile of art supplies that sat on the other half of the bed, and accepted the inevitable: she was going to need a second bag. She wondered if she could get by with one of her bigger purses.

Her gaze fell on the two phones sitting on her nightstand. She didn't know what she would do with her Mimi Phone. Should she just leave it? She knew that it could probably be incriminating somehow, but she wasn't sure how and she didn't even know if it mattered now that she was leaving Brooklyn.

She looked around at the tiny bedroom in the tiny apartment, a space that she'd spent the last six months making her own. Such a short time, but she'd done it pretty thoroughly. Her clothes were all over the place, her books stacked in a high pile in the corner. Her art covered the wall above her desk, alongside a few pieces she'd been able to afford, and every flat surface was covered with makeup, jewelry, and various things that she'd just found somewhere.

In trying to make it feel like home, she'd accidentally turned it into a real home, and she hadn't realized it until the moment she had to leave.

She abandoned her pathetic attempts at packing and climbed across the bed. She picked up her BSC Phone and unplugged it from the charger. (She'd been very confused to find it with only a 2% charge after she hadn't turned it on in over a year.) She stared for a moment at Kristy's name on the contact list, bracing herself. She didn't want the job, but someone had to pass the message along and she'd promised Stacey she would take care of it. While she dreaded Kristy's anger, she was at least hopeful that their "President" would know what to do.

She pushed the button to make the call, afraid that if she gave herself one more second she would lose her nerve. To her surprise, the first thing she heard wasn't a voicemail message, but ringing. She leaned back against the wall as she waited for an answer.

/

_Nashville, Tennessee_

Janet Brewer looked up from zipping her backpack as her co-worker walked into the break room.

"Good timing," she said. "I need to go over to the bank. Can you hold down the fort for a few minutes?"

"Consider it held, General," Justin said.

"Great. When I get back, you can take your break."

"Sounds good," he said. "Hey, what are you doing tonight?"

"I get off at six," she said. "I'm just gonna go home and watch the Mets game."

"Right," he said with a smile. It was a running joke between the two of them that she was the only Mets fan in the state of Tennessee. She swung her backpack onto her shoulder and looked up at him, waiting for him to say whatever it was that he clearly wanted to. He ran his hand over his shaggy brown hair, the way he did when he was nervous. "I was wondering if you'd wanna go grab a drink. Or maybe go see a movie? Or something?"

"Oh. Um...no," she said. He tried- and failed- to hide his disappointment, and she quickly tried to soften the blow. "I mean, I kind of just want to go home, you know?"

"Yeah, of course," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. Still, he continued with a hopeful tone: "Tomorrow, maybe? Or this weekend?"

"I'll let you know."

"Yeah. Great."

"I'll be back soon."

"Yeah, great," he repeated as she passed him on her way out of the room.

Janet pushed her hands deep in her pockets and walked with hunched shoulders through the FanAttic store and into the mall. She was completely thrown for a loop. She and Justin had been working together for months, and she'd always just thought of him as a friend. She'd never even considered that he felt differently. In her defense, it had been a long time since she'd thought about any guy that way. Ever since she'd left Stoneybrook, she'd been more concerned with simply surviving and avoiding arrest. Even if she did like Justin that way, it would never work. He'd only ever known her as Janet. Never as Kristy. Never as her real self.

She heard a phone ringing and pulled her cell out of her pocket only to realize that it was the wrong one.

She stopped at the nearest bench and pulled her old prepaid phone out of the front pocket of her backpack. The area code on the caller ID was 347, and she sort of wondered where that was, but didn't waste too much time on the thought. The "where" didn't matter, only the "who".

She looked around, making sure she wasn't being watched, before she answered. "Hello?"

The line was silent for a moment, before a familiar voice responded: "Kristy?"

She froze. It had been years since anyone had called her Kristy.

"Hold on," she said. She hurried out of the crowded mall walkway, through the white double doors that led to the back hallways. She made sure she was alone before speaking to the phone again: "Who's this?"

"It's Claudia."

Kristy saw her in her mind: Claudia, her friend since she was a baby. Beautiful, creative, rebellious Claudia. But it was the past Claudia that she pictured, the teenage Claudia sitting in her room in her childhood home. The voice didn't match up exactly, but it was the closest that she had.

"What's going on?" she asked frantically. "What's wrong?"

Claudia sighed. She wanted to have a moment, if only a moment, to just talk to her friend, but of course Kristy wanted to get down to business.

"It's Stacey," Claudia said.

"Is she okay?"

"Yeah," she said. "Well, no. Her cover was blown."

"Okay. What does that have to do with me?" She realized after she said it that it was a pretty insensitive question, but it seemed legitimate enough.

"She was living with somebody," Claudia said with a tone of forced patience. "He's a reporter. He's doing a story on us."

"Shit." She leaned back against the wall.

"Yeah."

"What does he know?" Kristy asked.

"No idea. Stacey booked it out of there last night as soon as she found out."

Kristy sighed. "Where is she now?"

"She's on a train. I'm packing. We're going to meet up somewhere."

"Okay," Kristy said. A plan of action was coming together in her head. There was no way to connect Stacey's cover identity with any of them, but if a big story was about to come out, then they were in trouble. She'd been preparing herself for something to come with the anniversary, but she hadn't quite expected this.

"Call me when you're together," she said, her tone taking on some of its old Presidential authority. "I'll pass the word along so everyone knows to be on the alert. Be careful. Both of you."

"We will," Claudia said. "And Kristy?"

"Yeah."

"It's good to hear your voice."

Kristy smiled, and she hoped that somehow, over the distance and through the drama, Claudia could sense it. "You, too. I'll talk to you soon."

/

_Wilde, South Dakota_

It had taken Mary Anne years to grow into her mother's name. It had been easy enough to choose it as a tribute of sorts ("Hi, I'm Alma," she'd said, as if she'd been saying it her entire life), but it had been difficult to live up to it. She wasn't strong, dignified Alma. She was small, scared Mary Anne, sure that at any moment someone would call her bluff and expose her as a child playing dress-up.

When- and how- had she started to feel like an Alma, like a woman worthy of her mother's name? It was hard to say. Perhaps it was Allison's doing. Maybe it had happened the first time the five-year-old had looked at her as a mother instead of just a baby-sitter.

Or maybe it was the new child, the one she'd just learned of and wouldn't meet for another several months. Perhaps it was a purely biological instinct that had finally clicked into place.

She looked down at the small blonde girl sitting in her lap, looked around at the tiny bedroom with purple paint and white flowers on the wall, and looked out the window to the tiny backyard. Maybe she had just realized that this was really her life now- this little girl and her father, their little home, and her big name. She had finally found somewhere that she fit.

She grinned as Allison closed her book. She pulled the girl closer and gave a little squeal. "You are getting so good at this!"

"Can we go outside?"

"Of course." She set the book aside and Allison jumped off of her lap. She called after the girl as she ran out of the room: "Wait by the door for me. I'll be there in a minute!"

She went to the master bedroom, where she had two cell phones laying on the nightstand. One was a perfect new smartphone that Shawn had bought her as an early birthday present, and which she was still trying to learn how to work. The other was the decade-old prepaid that she'd bought on her way out of Stoneybrook. She had been thinking about her old friends and old home a lot lately, probably thanks to the anniversary coming up, and it had made her realize how rarely she bothered to check her old phone. If somebody had tried to call her in the previous six months, she would have been completely oblivious. So in the last few weeks, she'd taken to having it out and turned on while Shawn wasn't home.

She checked her new phone first, but there was nothing important waiting for her there. She was turning to leave when her eye was caught by the blinking blue light on the older phone. She quickly picked it up and saw a missed call alert with Kristy's name.

She found Allison waiting impatiently by the back door.

"Stay in the backyard," she said, as she opened the door and the young girl went running out. Mary Anne stayed by the door as she pushed the callback button.

It took several rings before she got an answer. "Mary Anne?"

A flurry of emotions ran through her, each of them confusing and all of them absolutely overwhelming. Her old name coming from her old friend took her back to her old life.

"Hey, Kristy," she said, and she found herself smiling even as she was fighting back tears. "What's up?"

They shared a small laugh, but when Kristy answered, her tone was serious and to-the-point.

"A lot," she said. "I just talked to Claudia. Stacey's in trouble. She and Claudia are meeting up to talk. We need to spread the word that everyone needs to be ready to move."

_Ready to move_. She wasn't ready to move. She wasn't ready to leave this place, just when she was starting to fit.

"Mary Anne?"

She wasn't ready to be Mary Anne again.

"I'm here," she said. "What do you need me to do?"

/

_Atlanta, Georgia_

The Movement Dance Studio looked like any other storefront on the downtown street, with its brick exterior and large front windows that looked out onto the people walking by, and allowed them to look inside. One particular woman took advantage of this more than anyone else. She was there at least a few times a week, whenever she saw a particular rehearsal going on inside that caught her eye, and if anybody noticed or minded, they didn't say. She didn't bother anybody. She just watched, and thought.

She thought about whether or not she could do any of the moves that those dancers did, after so many years out of practice. (Probably not.) She thought about the passion that showed in their movements and their faces, the same kind that she used to have. She thought about the last time she'd cared about something that much, and how she'd given it up. She thought about being Jessi Ramsey and having dreams.

Then she turned and walked away. She rejoined the present, where she was Zelda Phillips, who had a job to get to, friends to make plans with, and even a date that weekend. Zelda had things to do besides moping and reminiscing.

As she waited at the intersection for the light to change, she heard her phone ringing in her bag. She ignored it at first, assuming that it was one of her friends, even though she'd told them that she didn't know her schedule yet. It was only after listening for a long minute that she realized that it wasn't the familiar ringtone that she heard every day.

Struck with the realization and suddenly in a rush to answer, she stood in the middle of the sidewalk and dug furiously through the contents of her bag. She found it at the bottom, of course, and answered it without even bothering to look at the number, terrified of missing the call and never getting another chance at it.

"Hello?"

"Jessi?" The voice was small and unsure, and sounded so distant.

"Who is this?" she asked.

"It's Mary Anne."

Jessi burst into a grin. She found a spot against a building where she could stand away from the sidewalk's crowd.

"Mary Anne!" she said happily. "Hi! What's going on? It's been forever!" Her moment of giddiness crashed down around her as she remembered _why _it had been forever. "What's going on?" she repeated, her voice heavy with worry and fear.

Mary Anne sighed sadly. "I don't know the whole story yet. Stacey's cover was blown, there might be a reporter looking for us, and Kristy said that we need to be ready to move."

Jessi paused to let it all sink in. "But don't move yet?"

"No," Mary Anne said. "Just be alert and wait to hear something more."

Jessi leaned against the wall and watched the people passing by. "Wait and see."

"Yeah," Mary Anne said quietly.

For a moment, there was silence. For a moment, the two young women were content just to know that they were together, in a way.

"Are you okay?" Jessi asked.

Mary Anne took a moment to answer. "It's complicated."

"Where are you?" Jessi asked wistfully. Part of her wanted to know how far apart they really were, hoping that it would be closer than she imagined (or felt).

"South Dakota." It was.

"Is it nice?"

"Yeah," Mary Anne said. "It's turning colder. Fall is coming."

"I'm in Atlanta," Jessi said. "You know, I looked it up the other day: it's nine hundred and fifty miles from Stoneybrook to here."

"Is that all?"

"I know. It feels like a different world."

/

_Los Angeles, California_

Sarah Franklin looked at her reflection in the glass door of the dairy case as she listened to the ringing on her phone and waited for an answer. She shifted impatiently from one foot to the next, her hand tapping absentmindedly against her thigh.

"Yes?" Rachel finally answered, and her voice was the usual mixture of curious and impatient that it often was when Sarah called her in the middle of the day.

"Do you want eggnog?" Sarah asked.

A brief pause. "Come again?"

"Eggnog," Sarah said. "Do you want some?"

"Where are you that has eggnog?"

"I'm at the store. I wanted cereal, but we were out of milk, so I came to the store and they have eggnog."

Another pause. "It's September."

"I didn't call to discuss stocking strategy with you, sweetheart. I called to ask if you wanted some eggnog."

"Well..._now_, yeah."

With her free hand, Sarah pulled the door, propped it open with her hip, and grabbed a half-gallon carton from the shelf. "Great. Got it."

"Good," Rachel said. "I'm going back to work."

"Have fun," Sarah said cheerfully. She kept the door open as she hung up and put the phone back in her pocket. She grabbed a half-gallon of milk, then slid out of the way and let the door fall shut.

She was halfway to the check-out when her phone started ringing. She stopped to put the two cartons down on a large and convenient stack of toilet paper while she pulled it out. There was no name on the screen, but her attention was captured by the tiny icon in the corner that told her the call was being forwarded from her other phone.

She took a deep breath before she answered.

"Hello?"

There was silence on the line. Perhaps her even, serious tone made it hard for the caller to recognize her.

"I'm looking for Abby Stevenson," the caller said unsurely.

Abby took in a sharp breath at the sound of her own, long-abandoned name. "Who is this?"

The caller hesitated. "It's Jessi."

Abby grinned. "Hey, Jessi."

"Hey, Abby." She let out a breath, and then went silent. Abby could feel the familiar weight of the silence and all of the things that it was holding off, heavy things that needed to be said. Silences like this were why Abby had spent her entire life making noise.

"What is it?" she asked.

"We might be in trouble," Jessi said. "I'm waiting on word from Mary Anne or Kristy, or somebody, but we might have to move soon."

"Everybody?" Abby asked. "Where are we supposed to go? Home?"

"I don't know," Jessi said after a brief silence. "We're just waiting."

"I hate waiting."

"I know," Jessi said. Secretly, she found it a bit comforting to hear about something that hadn't changed when everything around them had.

"Call me as soon as you know something?"

"I will. I Promise. Just take care of yourself."

After hanging up, Abby stood there was a second, staring at the two cartons she'd been carrying a brief moment before. She left them behind when she hurried out of the store. She didn't know where she was going, but she needed to move.

/

_Wayward, California_

Dawn gave a deep grunt as she carried the full crate of oranges into the house and dropped it on the entrance hall floor with a _Thump_. She heard the phone ringing in the kitchen but didn't pay it any attention, assuming that somebody else was around to answer. With twenty people living on the property, it seemed like a safe bet. It was only after three more rings that she realized she was the only one around.

"I'll get it!" she called as she went down the hall to the kitchen. "Apparently." She grabbed the phone from its cradle, stopping it mid-ring. "Hello?"

"Hi." The voice was male, and friendly, and if Dawn had to guess an age it wouldn't be much older than her. In his thirties, maybe. "I'm looking for Dawn Schafer."

"Who is this?"

"My name is Devin Harlow. I'm a journalist for the Austin Statesman. I-"

"Dawn's not here right now."

"Okay," he said, seemingly unbothered by her sharp tone. "Well, if I leave a message, would you pass it along?"

She hesitated just a second too long before saying, "Sure," and turning to the pad and pencil that hung by the phone.

"The name is Devin Harlow, and I'm with the Austin Statesman," he repeated. "I'm doing a story on the Stoneybrook bombing, and I'd really like to meet with her if she'd be willing. My number is 512-555-7334."

"Okay," she said, writing the last of the numbers and letting the pencil drop from her hand.

"Great. Thank you."

After the quickest good-bye she could manage, Dawn pressed the button to disconnect and dialed a familiar number. It rang three times before she heard her brother's voice.

"I heard from Alma earlier," he told her almost immediately.

Dawn stood up straight. "You did?"

"She asked for your number," Jeff said. "I assumed she was going to call you."

"I haven't heard from her. Not yet, anyway."

"What's going on, Dawn?" he asked, letting worry sneak into his voice.

"I don't know. I'm sure we'll find out soon." She knew it by the sense of dread that was creeping over her.

/

Devin watched two kids chasing each other around the airport's metal seating units as he listened to the ringing tone and waited for Mallory Pike to answer. He wasn't sure if he expected her to, but he hoped. It would be nice to have some sort of solid contact before he got on the plane.

"Hello." She sounded irritated to begin with.

"Hello," Devin said, smiling and trying to infuse his voice with as much friendliness and charm as possible. "Is this Mallory Pike?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"My name is Devin Harlow. I'm with the Austin Statesman. I was wondering if you would-"

"No."

He waited for her to say something more, but after a moment of silence, he pulled his phone away from his ear and saw that she'd hung up.

"Well," he said. "At least that didn't take long."

The P.A. system called throughout the terminal: "Flight Five-oh-nine to Los Angeles now boarding at gate Thirty."

Devin put his phone away and pulled his suitcase behind him as he joined the crowd of waiting travelers.

* * *

Okay. I hope you enjoyed this. Reviews are always welcome!


	3. Hideaways

**Author's Note:** Hello, friends. Thank you for all the subscriptions and favorites and comments. I've gotten a lot of really nice replies to this story. But before we get started with chapter three, there are a couple of things I want to say.

First of all, I realized while working on this chapter that I never actually used the word "Elementary" in the first two chapters, so the actual nature of the attack in question may come as a shock. So let me put this warning up front: the central event of this story involves the death of children, many of whom were named characters in the book series. I wanted to be clear about this, because I understand that it may be too upsetting for some.

Secondly, I began this story in February of 2015. The world has shifted since then. Terrorism is front and center again, and I've come to realize that this might change the way that some people see this story and its premise. It may seem crass or insensitive. These are natural and understandable reactions, and so I wanted to make my intentions clear. I'm not trying to use this very serious subject as a simple plot device or for shock value. It is the center of the story. I want to examine how and why such things happen, and the devastation that they leave in their wake. I thought a good way to do that would be through the lens of a setting and characters that we already know and love, and I hope I can do it in a way that is respectful and thoughtful.

Thank you.

**Disclaimer:** The Baby-Sitters Club and all related properties and characters belong to Ann M. Martin and Scholastic.

* * *

_September 21st  
Knoxville, Tennessee_

The train pulled into Knoxville as the sun was coming up. Stacey had been awake all night, since hanging up with Claudia, looking out the window at the outline of scenery passing by in the dark. The car's other passengers woke up as the sun peeked in through the windows and once the train began moving through the city, everybody came alive, gathering their things and preparing to disembark.

Stacey waited until she was one of a few people left in the car. She pulled her suitcase from the overhead compartment and swung her purse onto her shoulder. When she made it to the door, she looked around the platform and the crowd of people gathered there. After a moment, she convinced herself that it was safe to come off. Nobody was paying her any attention. They were just travelers, normal people reuniting with other normal people.

She kept a careful eye on everybody that she passed as she walked briskly through the train station. Though the chances were slim of somebody recognizing her, or even finding her suspicious, she'd already learned the consequences of letting her guard down and she wasn't willing to take another risk. Not when she was so close.

She walked out of the terminal and stopped just outside the front doors, ignoring the cabbies nearby who were trying to catch her eye. She took out her phone and read the address that Claudia had sent her just an hour before. She took it to the driver at the front of the line.

"Can you tell me where this is?" she asked, angling the screen his way. "The Silver Spoon Diner?"

He pointed straight ahead. "You go down about two blocks, and it's on your right, on the other side of the street."

"Okay." She flashed him a quick smile. "Thank you."

"You don't need a ride, do you?"

"No, I'm good." She was already walking away,

The Silver Spoon Diner was easy to find, and within a few minutes she was standing across the street from it. She hurried across, pulling her suitcase behind her, its small wheels clicking as they rolled across the pavement. She stood in front of the large front window and looked inside. She could see the entire dining room from there, and no doubt they could see the strange girl staring in at them, but nobody seemed too bothered. The last place her eyes landed was the back corner, and that's where she saw who she was looking for.

Stacey hurried inside, and down the aisle towards the back table. Claudia greeted her with a smile and stood up with her arms wide open. Stacey walked into the hug and wrapped her arms around Claudia's middle. They held onto each other as if they might not get another chance for another decade.

Even when they pulled apart, Claudia kept her hands on Stacey's shoulders.

"Hey," Claudia said.

"Hi," Stacey said, giving a small laugh. It was such a small word for such a big moment.

"How are you?"

Stacey sighed and nodded to the table. "Let's sit."

"That bad, huh?"

They settled into their seats, and looked across the table at each other. After a decade apart, their faces were still familiar to each other through the differences. Stacey found herself trying to pinpoint the ways that her best friend had changed, and yet she couldn't. The sum was the same- she was still Claudia.

"So what's going on?" Claudia asked.

Stacey took a breath and tried to decide where to begin. She decided that the obvious choice was the best: begin at the beginning. Even at the risk of repeating the little that she'd already shared, she needed to get it all out.

"I met a guy," she said with a smile.

They laughed, not because it was funny, but because it took them back. It felt like a conversation they should be having in Claudia's room, with their two completely different snacks, as they waited for the rest of the club to arrive for a meeting.

"His name was Devin," she said, because maybe it would be easier to put it behind her if she could acknowledge that it was over. "He was really sweet."

"How did you meet him?"

"His boss was married to one of my clients," she said, as if it were so long ago that she wondered whatever happened to that nice couple. "I was working as a bookkeeper, and he was a reporter." Her smile slowly faded as she remembered that that little tidbit was what started all this trouble. "He got an assignment yesterday, to write a piece about the tenth anniversary of the Stoneybrook bombing." Just saying the words- "the Stoneybrook bombing"- made her voice break. "I packed my things and got out of there. I didn't wait for him to find out, but he probably knows by now."

"What do you think he'll do?" Claudia asked.

Stacey thought about it for longer than she really needed to. She wanted to be sure of her answer, feeling like she had to represent Devin to her best friend and defend his actions. But she knew the answer as soon as Claudia asked, because she knew Devin, better than he would ever know her.

"He'll write the story," she said.

Claudia reacted the way that Stacey expected: she sat up straighter in her seat, and a look of defensive anger began to come over her face.

"He'll want to know the story," Stacey said. "The _whole_ story. He'll want to know the truth, and tell it."

Claudia's expression softened. The truth. The truth was on their side. So maybe Devin was, too, even if he didn't know it.

"So," Claudia said. "What do _we_ do now?"

That, Stacey didn't have an answer for. Neither of them did. They knew what they should do, but they didn't want to. They knew what they wanted to do, but they shouldn't.

"I don't know," Stacey said softly.

Their waitress took the silence as a chance to get their orders, and once she was gone they were again left with their thoughts and their silence.

"I'm tired of running," Stacey said. "It's not sustainable." Was this what the rest of their life was going to be like- leaving behind one life on a moment's notice without knowing where or what her new one would be? Never knowing when she would see her best friends again, or hear her mother's voice?

"I want to go home," Claudia said.

"Me, too."

"That's not really an option. is it?" It was a question, not a statement. It was the kind of thing you say to get somebody to talk you out of a bad idea, but she said it with a hint of hope in her voice. There was a part of her that wanted to believe that they could still make it back there.

Stacey had that part in her, too, but she wasn't sure what to do with it. Home meant surrender. It meant having to answer questions that they might not be able to. Like "why did you run?", "If you didn't do it, then who did?", and "How can we believe you?" It meant having to go home and face everything and everybody they'd left behind, and all the people who thought that they were monsters.

But home also meant...well, home. It meant family, and friends, people who knew them at thirteen and seventeen, who knew who they were and what they could never do. It meant a chance to make things right.

Stacey looked across the table to Claudia, and even after ten years apart, it was clear that they could still read each others minds.

/

"I can't believe you've never used Skype," Stacey said, shaking her head as Claudia struggled to set up her account.

"Who do I have to Skype with?" Claudia said. She clicked the two boxes at the bottom of the screen and hit the Next button.

"You're not going to read the Terms and Conditions?"

"Nobody reads Terms and Conditions," Claudia said. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure we've already broken a few of them."

A window popped up inviting them into a chat with Madam_President. The two of them shared a knowing smile.

"Well that was quick," Claudia said.

"Right on time," Stacey said. "Some things never change."

They accepted the invitation, and Kristy's face appeared on the screen. The three women grinned as they took in the sight of each other.

"Hey," Kristy said, her voice tinny and slightly distorted through the speaker but still very recognizable.

"Hey," Stacey said.

"Long time, no see," Claudia said.

Kristy laughed. "Yeah. You guys look the same. It's weird."

"So do you," Stacey said. There was Kristy. _Their _Kristy, their friend, their fearless leader. She just called them and they answered, just like they used to do. Who knew it could be so simple?

Kristy sat up straight. She was ready to get down to business. "So what's up?"

"Well," Stacey said. "A lot."

She relayed the whole story again, giving as much detail as she thought was necessary. She explained who Devin was- both to her personally and in general. She explained the assignment, her decision to leave, and the meeting that she and Claudia had had in the diner.

She explained that they wanted to go home.

Kristy looked downward.

"Don't you miss home, Kristy?" Claudia asked.

"Of course I do," she said. "But...guys. you're talking about turning ourselves in. On terrorism charges."

"And if we don't, everybody will always think that we're guilty," Stacey said firmly. "At least this way we have a shot at clearing our names."

"A really freaking long shot."

"Kristy," Claudia said. "Isn't there part of you that wishes we hadn't left? That we'd stayed and fought it out?"

Kristy didn't answer right away, but they all knew the answer was yes. Kristy was a fighter. It had killed her to run. It was still killing her. It had seemed like best option then, when they were seventeen and scared and it felt like the entire world was closing in on them. Now it felt pretty clearly like a mistake.

"Do you really think they'll believe us?" she asked. She wasn't angry, or scoffing at the idea. She was asking. She wanted to know if they really believed that there was any hope for them.

"I think they'll listen," Stacey said. "That's a start, right?"

Kristy looked away from them as she thought. She looked towards the corner of the screen, even though there was nothing there to look at. That's just where they landed as she tried to gather her thoughts, to make sense of their options and what they were talking about doing. Leaving had been a mistake, yes, but was it really one that they could just undo? Just like that? It wasn't that simple.

"It's not just us," she said, looking back to Stacey and Claudia. "It's everybody. It has to be everybody's decision."

"All right," Stacey said. "So let's meet and see what everybody thinks."

"Where can we meet?" Claudia asked.

"Where do you think?" Kristy asked.

"You think that's a good idea?" Stacey asked.

"I don't think it's any worse than all the other bad ideas we're having," Kristy said. "Claud, do you know if your parents still live there?"

"Janine does," Claudia said, so quickly and surely that it earned her a pair of suspicious looks. "I looked her up a couple of months ago. I was curious."

Kristy sighed. "All right. Let's start making calls."

/

_Wilde_

"I think I should go with you."

Mary Anne looked up at Shawn with wide eyes. Her suitcase was open in front of her on the bed, half-packed with whatever one might need to visit a sick grandmother for a few days.

"I mean," he said. "This could be really stressful, and I think it would be better if we approached the situation as a team. Don't you?"

Mary Anne gave him a smile, then walked over and placed her hands gently on his shoulders. "You're really sweet. But I think this is something I need to do by myself. I just don't think this is the time to spring a new person on them, you know?"

Shawn sighed. "Of course. You're right. I guess I'm just worried about you. It's the first time you've been home since we met."

"I'll be fine. I'll call you if I need you."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

He gave her a quick kiss on her lips before he left her alone to finish her packing.

Mary Anne dropped onto the bed. She looked at the pile of clothes she still had to pack. She'd chosen everything carefully, knowing that she probably wouldn't be coming back to this house. Yes, she was going home, but it had nothing to do with a sick grandmother, and she wouldn't be calling him when she needed him.

When had she become such a good liar?

_Was_ she a good liar? Or did he just believe her because he loved her? She didn't know which one was worse.

She blinked back her tears and stood up. She picked up her favorite pink sweater and began to fold it. She needed to finish packing. She didn't have time to waste.

/

_Atlanta_

Months before, when Jessi had taken it upon herself to find all the pay phones left in downtown Atlanta, she'd marked the train station as the most useful location. There was a bank of three phones there, and while there wasn't really any privacy, all three of them were consistently in working order and, of course, it was a train station, which was perfect for a quick getaway if she needed one.

On this particular day, she lucked out and found all three phones available. She dropped her stuffed duffel bag at her feet, and pulled a slip of paper from her back pocket. All it had on it was a number: 212-555-3120. She grabbed the receiver, dialed, and stuffed the paper back into her pocket as she listened to it ring.

"Hello?"

Jessi smiled at the familiar voice. It was different, in a way that she couldn't quite put her finger on, but it was definitely Mallory.

"Hey, Mal."

There was a long pause, and then: "Hold on."

Jessi waited silently for a long couple of minutes, listening to the background noise slowly fade. Finally, there was nothing on the line but Mallory's voice.

"Jessi?" she asked. "Is that you?"

"It's me."

Mallory let out a deep breath, as if something she'd been waiting for for years had finally come along and lifted a weight off her shoulders. "Hi. Are you okay?"

Jessi's head wobbled back and forth. "More or less. You?"

Mallory gave a laugh. "Yeah. _I'm_ fine. What's going on?"

Jessi sighed. She didn't really wanna talk about what was going on, the chaos and confusion. She wanted to talk about things that normal friends talked about. She wanted to ask Mallory how her family was, to tell her that she'd been reading her work for years and that she was so proud of her. She wanted to ask about New York, and tell her about all the places she'd lived in the last ten years.

But that would have to wait, and she would just have to hope that they had a chance for it all later.

She recounted everything she knew up to the moment.

"Do you have Kristy's number?" Mallory asked anxiously.

Jessi took a moment. It hadn't been the response she was expecting. "Yeah. Why?"

"Give it to me," Mallory said. "I'm going to call her."

"All right," she said. "Hold on." She set the receiver aside, then crouched down to get her phone out of her duffel. She scrolled through the contacts list until she got to K, then read the number off.

"Got it," Mallory said. She sighed, and gave herself a brief pause. "So I'll see you soon?"

Jessi grinned. "Yeah. See you soon."

"Be careful, okay?"

"I will," Jessi said, firmly and surely. She was well-practiced in being careful. "I promise."

They shared a moment of silence. It was time to hang up, but neither of them wanted to.

"Hey, Mal?" Jessi said. "How's New York?"

"I'm not gonna lie," Mallory said. "It's pretty great."

It was bittersweet, knowing that her best friend was living a dream life that Jessi couldn't be a part of. But at least she was living, and she was still Jessi's best friend. So how could Jessi not be happy?

/

_New York City_

Mallory was in an empty office two floors up from her own, a sprawling empty space where once there was a sea of cubicles. She'd discovered it by accident a few months before, when she'd come upstairs on a routine errand, and since then, it had become a bit of a hideout for her. Sometimes even before or after work, she would make her way up through the back halls and staircases and just enjoy being alone, safe in the knowledge that nobody would find her there. Though she thrived in the hustle and bustle of the city life, there was still a bit of the small-town girl in her that needed some quiet sometimes.

And this little urban cave turned out to be the perfect place for her unexpected calls with her old friends.

She dialed Kristy's number and waited as it rang for what seemed like an eternity. She found herself pacing back and forth. If she'd counted, she would have known that it was only seven rings, but she had no interest in measuring by the number of rings. She was measuring in the time that she'd had to wait for this conversation, which she calculated at approximately nine years, 360 days, and seven rings.

Kristy finally answered with a straightforward "Yeah?"

Mallory stopped pacing. "Kristy?" Not that she needed to ask. There was no mistaking that blunt and impatient tone.

"Who is this?" Kristy asked.

"It's Mallory."

Kristy gave a deep sigh of relief. "Hey, Mal," she said with a smile in her voice.

"Hey, Kristy," Mallory said with a smile on her face. She leaned back against the wall.

"Jessi gave you my number?"

Mallory hesitated for a second, but decided that there was no point in denying it. "Yeah."

"Yeah." Kristy's voice was even and natural. She wasn't upset at all, and in fact she almost sounded like she was in a good mood. "How are you, Mal?"

"Worried," she said. "I'm heading home tomorrow. What are we going to do about the reporter?"

"Did he call you?" Kristy asked.

"Yeah," Mallory said. "Yesterday."

"That was quick. What did he say?"

"Pretty much just his name. I hung up on him."

"Do you still have his number?"

"I have a cell phone, so yes."

"Can you call him back and set up a meeting?"

"I _can_," Mallory said. "Why should I?"

"It would be good if we could find out what he knows," Kristy said.

Mallory thought for a moment, then smiled. "It's been a while since I got to play detective."

/

_California_

Dawn had spent a lot of the last twenty-four hours thinking about Devin Harlow. He wasn't the first reporter to find her, and she probably wouldn't have thought twice about him if not for the conversations that followed. First there was the call from Jeff about Mary Ann, and then there was the call from Mary Ann herself. It was brief and bittersweet, just long enough for Mary Ann to explain what was happening and where they were going.

Dawn started packing pretty much immediately after they hung up.

Her duffel was almost full when there was a knock on her bedroom door.

"Come in!"

The door opened and Adam leaned into the room. He was a couple of years older than Dawn, and was one of the commune's unofficial leaders, only because the commune didn't have any official leaders.

He noticed her almost-full bag. "Are you going somewhere?"

"Uh, yeah," Dawn said. "I have to go home for a few days. There's a family situation."

"Is everybody okay?" he asked.

Dawn didn't know how to answer that, so she replied with a question of her own: "Did you need something?"

Adam pointed behind him by crooking his thumb over his shoulder. "There's a reporter on the phone asking for you. You want me to get rid of him?" It was a routine question. If Dawn hadn't been there, he would have just gone ahead and done it. Since the residents of the commune had discovered who Dawn was, only a few days after her arrival, they'd become very protective of her.

"Did you get a name?" she asked.

Adam shrugged. "He's from some paper in Austin."

"I'll take it."

"Oh-_kay_," he said, not bothering to hide his surprise.

When Dawn entered the kitchen, she found the receiver resting on the counter, waiting for her. She looked around before she picked it up, to ensure that nobody was in eavesdropping range.

"Hello?"

"Is this Dawn Schafer?" Devin asked.

"You again."

"Me again," he said. "Thanks for taking my call. I had a feeling that guy was gonna blow me off."

"What do you want?" Dawn asked.

"I want the real story about what happened in Stoneybrook. I'd really like to talk to you."

"I wasn't there."

"I know, but that doesn't mean that you don't know anything. I understand why you might be skeptical, but-"

"Where are you?" she asked.

He hesitated, as reasonable people do when asked that question. "Actually, I'm in California at the moment. That's why I thought I should call you again."

"What a coincidence," she said. "Do you know Andrew Molera State Park?"

He paused briefly. "Uh, I can find it."

"It's near Carmel. I'll meet you there..." She looked up to the clock on the wall. "At about one?"

"Yeah. Great. See you there."

Dawn hung up and immediately began to wonder if she was making a mistake.

/

He was thirty minutes late. She wasn't in a great mood to begin with, and after five minutes of waiting, she began to get annoyed. When he pulled into the parking lot at one-thirty, she was not a welcoming figure. He parked in the space across from her and found her leaning against the trunk of her car, arms crossed across her chest.

He gave her a smile that was supposed to be charming. Dawn would later admit that he was kind of boyishly handsome. He even had dimples, for God's sake. But at the time she wasn't willing to let herself be charmed, so she didn't smile back. This didn't seem to discourage him. He held his hand out for her to shake, which she only reluctantly did.

"Devin Harlow. Nice to meet you."

"You're late."

"I am. I got lost. Sorry about that."

She was happy to see that he was at least dressed for hiking. She handed him one of the two full water bottles that she was holding.

"Let's go," she said, heading for the treeline.

Devin held back, though. "So how do I know you're not going to push me off a cliff or bury me somewhere in there?"

She didn't look back. "I guess you don't."

He hesitated for a few seconds before he followed her in.

She took mercy on him and led him up the easy trail. For a few minutes, he followed in silence and let himself take in the scenery. California was a new landscape for him, and Dawn could no doubt tell. Once he did start in with the questions, she proved evasive, as he'd expected she would be. Even though he was starting with softballs, she dodged them all, by pointing out something on the trail, or turning the question around on him, or just refusing to acknowledge that he'd spoken at all.

Every five minutes or so, Devin checked to make sure that his phone was still recording.

After one of these checks, he looked up and saw Dawn standing on a cliff, looking outward.

"Everything okay?" he asked as he approached her.

"Come look."

He stepped up next to her and looked out. There was a grouping of trees right under the cliff, and then ocean as far as the eye could see.

"Wow."

"This is my favorite view in the park," she said softly.

They fell into silence. Devin was itching to ask his questions, but he held back. Dawn seemed to be trying very hard to ignore him, and he knew that if he pushed the moment, she would turn on him. So he let her have the moment. He was happy to do so.

"I have a wanderlust," Dawn finally said. She didn't look at him, and he didn't look at her. He'd found that some things were easier to say when nobody was looking. "But if I stay away too long, I get homesick." She paused, weighing her words. "Stoneybrook used to feel like home."

He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. "Have you been back since the bombing?"

She hugged herself. "It's been a long time. It's different now."

"Do you get homesick for Stoneybrook?"

"It's...a different feeling," she said. "It's love, and grief, and nostalgia. And guilt."

"Guilt over what?"

She turned suddenly and walked away, continuing down the trail. Devin followed after her.

"Guilt over what?" he asked again.

She turned on him, stopping so suddenly that he had he almost ran into her.

"You first. Why is a reporter from Austin digging into a decade-old bombing from Connecticut? Why _you_?" She said it like an accusation.

Devin weighed his options. He had no idea how she would react to the whole truth. He could tell her that it was just another assignment, or turn the question around and ask why she had agreed to meet with him, but as the old saying went, doors opened both ways. Some reporters could expect her to be open while closing themselves off, but that had never been how Devin worked.

He walked past her to continue down the trail. "I met a girl."

She stepped up beside him. "That story never ends badly."

Devin gave a sad smile. "She told me her name was Maureen, but it was really Stacey." He looked over to Dawn, and was surprised by her lack of a reaction. "I didn't know until she was gone."

"So what, is this some big plan to win her back?" Dawn asked sharply.

"No." The thought honestly hadn't entered his mind at all. "I'm just...trying to understand. Because the woman I knew wouldn't have done it."

"You realize how naive that sounds?"

"Well, nobody's ever accused me of being a cynic."

She gave him a long, hard look, as if she thought she could stare through his skull to read his mind.

After a couple of minutes, she sighed. "Whatever questions you have, ask them now, because this is the only interview I'm doing."

He wanted to ask about her guilt again, but decided to ease into it. He decided to start with something easier, a question of facts instead of feelings.

"The reports I read said that the bomb was inside a..." He paused to remember the right wording. "Kid Kit box?"

"That's not evidence of anything."

"Why not?"

She sighed, as if this was so obvious to her that she had no idea how to explain it. She stopped at a boulder on the side of the trail and sat down. Devin sat next to her, leaving as much space between them as the rock would allow.

"When the club was first around, the Kid Kits were these boxes full of stuff for the kids," she explained patiently. "Coloring books, toys, games, just stuff for them to do. But when...it happened, the club wasn't a baby-sitting club anymore. It was more like a non-profit. We were doing fund-raisers, and toy drives, and food drives. A month before the bombing, they had a school supply drive. Anyone in town could have gotten one of those boxes." She looked down at her water bottle, and muttered sadly: "That Claudia spent hours painting."

Devin was fairly certain that he knew the answer to his next question, but he had to ask it anyway. "You believe they're innocent?"

She looked up to meet his eyes. "I know they are."

"How?"

"Because I know them." _Know_. Not _knew_. "Because Mary Anne took care of Jenny Prezzioso when she had a fever of a hundred and four. Because Kristy taught Archie Rodowsky how to play softball. Because Claudia saw Gabbie Perkins take her first steps. Those girls loved those kids. They would rather die than hurt any of them."

"Then why did they run?"

"I don't _know,_ okay?" she said, like a dog snapping at a stick that's been poking it. "I don't know."

"Any ideas who _would _have done it?" he asked.

"Crazy people?" She looked out to the view that stretched out before them- the trees and the ocean beyond them- and went quiet for a long time. So quiet for so long that Devin had a hard time believing her when she said: "I don't know. I wish I could tell you."

/

He asked easier questions on the way back, background questions, and for the most part he got easier answers. He asked about her life before Stoneybrook, and in Stoneybrook, her family and friends and the club. She seemed happy to talk about happier times, but sometimes she hesitated, as if afraid to share too much.

"Are you going to the memorial?" he asked as they walked across the parking lot.

"I'm planning to," Dawn said. "Are you?"

"Yeah."

They stopped in the center lane, between the two cars.

"Do me a favor," she said. "Don't talk to anybody at the memorial."

He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, and not just because they were tired. "Why?"

"They'll read the names of the victims," she said. "If you really want to do this right, you'll listen, and watch."

* * *

Reviews are always appreciated.


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